Belgrade Seems Far From The Fighting But Close To Other Realities Of War

Shortages, Layoffs And Tough Smugglers Remind Yugoslavia's Capital City Of The Price Of Conflict.

April 25, 1993|By New York Times

BELGRADE, YUGOSLAVIA — In the basement restaurant of the Writers Club, a late-night den of smoke and drink and heated talk among Belgrade intellectuals, it was obvious just looking at the waiter's face that something had gone terribly wrong.

He reddened and sputtered and put his hand over his heart. Then he confessed: The jar of caviar that the hostess had brought for her table of guests had fallen and broken in the kitchen. The caviar was inedible.

The hostess's face clouded over. Then she threw her hands up in the air and laughed. ''How can I be angry over a broken jar of caviar after what I've seen in this country?'' The other diners relaxed.

Yugoslavia is like that these days. If suffering is relative, certainly the low end of the scale is in Belgrade the capital. Despite a full year of international sanctions imposed by the United Nations almost anything can be had for the right price, from Colgate toothpaste to Pilsener beer.

The raging war in Bosnia, between Bosnian Serbs beholden to Belgrade and Muslims, who are also being wiped out by Croats, is only a hundred miles away. But with lovers strolling past blazing forsythia blossoms in the parks and spring-intoxicated teen-agers horsing around at the outdoor cafes, it feels as though the war were on the other side of the globe.

Scratch a little deeper and the costs of the war and the trade embargo become apparent. With a severe shortage of gasoline, traffic is sparse and crowds of a hundred and more wait at bus stops. Crowds form outside Western embassies, hoping for visas to leave.

And banks are easy to spot because of the shoving, anxious throngs outside, desperate to collect high, speculative rates of interest promised on hard-currency accounts.

The economy is on its knees. Industrial production has fallen between 40 and 50 percent over the last year. Thousands had been laid off or sent home on forced vacations, receiving 80 percent of their salaries. With inflation ripping along at 230 percent a month, the government literally cannot print enough bills to keep up with the demand.

If tighter sanctions go into effect, as scheduled for Monday, the deadline given to the Bosnian Serbs to sign the U.N. peace plan, the embargo will really take hold, many here believe. That is because a new provision would not allow any goods to be shipped across Yugoslavia to another country.

Many shippers have given a false destination and unloaded the merchandise in Belgrade.

One byproduct of the embargo has been the growth of a smuggler class, the ''mafiosi.'' Tough-looking men in double-breasted suits, they drive BMWs, pack revolvers and monopolize the best restaurants. Their swagger gives Belgrade the feel of Beirut before the civil war.

''It used to be special nationality to be from Belgrade,'' said Duska Anastasijevic, a 25-year-old student. ''It was dirty but it had atmosphere. We had film festivals, rock bands, cafes, lots of parties. It was fun.

''Now there are all these money-changers, cigarette sellers, men in fatigues and guns hanging around,'' Anastasijevic said. ''Hundreds of people, students and intellectuals, have left. They've gone abroad, and their place is taken by these new tough people from the country.''